


A Journey of the Heart

by errandofmercy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errandofmercy/pseuds/errandofmercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Legolas, the journey into Mordor was also one of self-discovery. Written for Day 1 of Gigolas Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Journey of the Heart

It may be true that the Elvenking’s son first looked on Gimli, son of Gloin, with suspicion. From what his eyes could see, the young Dwarf was living proof of all that the Elves’ disparaging tales foretold. He was a strange and boorish creature, bursting with hair and noise and mettle, so unlike Legolas’ calm and reserved kinsmen. But if Legolas was guilty of despising the Dwarves, it was merely a crime of association. He saw in Gimli what he expected to see, and nothing more.

 

Antipathy for the dwarves was entrenched as deeply in his mind as the wondrous tales of the Valar. The seeds of prejudice were planted at a gentler time, before his young and trusting mind had bothered to think much of other peoples in other lands. The words and deeds of his father had seemed infallible then, for though he was callous to outsiders, the Elvenking was a doting father. Thranduil cared deeply for his son, and Legolas’ naturally obedient nature remained untested by doubt or confusion. Far off in their mountain halls, the Dwarves were as remote and obscure as the creatures that dwelt beneath the western waves. They would never serve a purpose save as the butt of his father’s jibes. He certainly never expected them to venture into Mirkwood, and when they did, he had treated the intruding party of Dwarves with the disdain customary of his people. The Dwarves, for their part, had given the Elves of Mirkwood no new incentive to trust, and Gloin and his company had slipped out of Legolas’ life with a bubble and a splash.

 

Without any further contact with their race, the vague distaste of Legolas’ encounter with the Dwarves lay unexamined for six decades in his heart, where it neither grew nor shrank. His father’s realm endured, and he continued to fulfill his princely duties with the calm and unflinching obedience. As time wore on, however, some of the Elvenking’s decisions and pronouncements began to weigh heavily on Legolas’ heart. He thought, from time to time, that he might do things differently, especially when his father’s temper flared or when he acted out of scorn and spite. But there was no place in his life for such thoughts, nor in fact was there much room for him to have a will of his own at all within the halls of Mirkwood. When the summons to Rivendell came, he was glad for a chance to breathe freely and to experience the world beyond the wood.

 

The journey of the Fellowship offered many novel sights, and though the Elf was curious, there was trepidation mingled with his eagerness. He felt ill at ease among such a strange and motley band of creatures. Though Aragorn was familiar enough with Elven ways to feel like a distant cousin, he was inscrutable and at times as unkempt as the Dwarf. Legolas found he enjoyed exploring these strange woods and fields, but he seemed unable or somehow unwilling to uncover common ground with his companions. He retreated often to his own thoughts, and observed them all in quiet confusion.

 

It was during these observations in which Legolas began to discover some strange things about the Dwarf. While Gimli had partaken heartily of the feasting at Rivendell, with much belching and soiling of beard, once the party took up the road he ate little and offered his food to the hungry Hobbits. Though Legolas had thought him boisterous and rude at first, he discovered that most of the Dwarf’s posturing and banter was aimed at cheering the other members of the Fellowship when their spirits were low. When his thoughts were not wandering among the trees and streams they passed, he listened absently to Gimli’s tales and jokes from the Dwarven realm. On rare occasions he even felt a glimmer of amusement twitch the corners of his mouth. And although Legolas was quite convinced that Gimli lacked the stealth and swiftness needed for Elven warfare, he held his own in battle with stout legs and a deadly axe. It seemed that there was more to Dwarves than the Elvenking had led him to believe; though their customs were strange and sometimes primitive, they were loyal, dependable, and kinder to other races than Legolas’ father had ever been. Legolas began to speak more freely, spending more time with the Fellowship than wandering on his own in the hopes that Gimli might take notice. The Dwarf was still wary of him, but his wariness was now tempered by the familiarity and fatigue of travel. Slowly, hesitantly, he began to warm. And as the ice thawed between them, Legolas found himself swept by a strange compulsion to prove his father wrong.

 

The loss of Gandalf interrupted their budding friendship like the shadowy fissure into which the great Wizard had disappeared. Though all the Fellowship was united in grief, the easy exchange of tales that had been growing between Elf and Dwarf was snuffed into silence by the pain of loss. Only in the safety and comfort of the Golden Wood did Legolas feel his affection for Gimli begin to stir anew.

 

It was not simply Mithrandir’s death that had shaken him so. Having lived all his life in the forests of his father’s realm, among his own kind, Legolas did not easily perceive death. Death was a thing meant for Orcs and spiders, not loved ones. Barring some failure on the battlefield or some terrible heartbreak, it would never happen to the ones he truly loved. But the sudden realization that all those with whom he traveled - they and all their mortal kinsmen, Hobbits, Men, and Dwarves - would someday be stolen by death? It was too swift and powerful to bear, and it left Legolas breathless with grief. He had not been aware of it, but since this journey began, each member of the Fellowship had taken a piece of his heart. From the sternly noble Aragorn to the distant and tormented Frodo, each one held a shard of his love, a shard that would someday die. The greatest piece of all, he realized to his surprise, now belonged to Gimli the Dwarf.

 

Legolas looked upon Gimli as he knelt at the feet of the Lady Galadriel, tearfully accepting the three luminous hairs from her head. It was not the enchanted hairs which drew the Elf’s attention, but the Dwarf’s eyes, which glittered like emeralds with joyful tears. Legolas felt something shift inside of him as he beheld the rapture on the Dwarf’s face, like a bloom of _niphredil_ bursting forth from its bud. His throat tightened with emotion as he realized what had become of him.

  
For the first time in the starlit reaches of his memory, he had fallen in love.


End file.
